


when everything you think is incomplete

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F, Fake-Out Make-Out, Fondling, Formalwear, It's not actually an AU, Making Out, Post-Canon, Writing Prompt, in which Weiss and Ilia look fucking STUNNING, in which Weiss needs Ilia's help to infiltrate a rival's office during his own gala, it's not super nsfw but some stuff happens and I'm more comfortable placing it as mature than not, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: “I can’t believe you talked me into another heist,” Ilia teases over the earpiece, to which Weiss rolls her eyes.“You’re the one who insisted on this plan,” she shoots back; while she’s making an effort to veil her words, the chatter of Winton’s patrons around her ensure she doesn’t have to whisper. “If I recall, in fact, you were beyond thrilled to be acting against Winton.”*This one is another tumblr prompt but I think it's long and complicated enough to be it's own one-shot fic. It's fromthis list, the prompt being 'Kissing to hide from the bad guys', which I clearly went overboard on, whoops! Anyways, prompts are open so feel free to drop by and send me one!
Relationships: Ilia Amitola/Weiss Schnee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	when everything you think is incomplete

Just as Weiss had expected, Hue Winton’s ballroom is big, gaudy, and packed to the brim with Atlas’ elite. Maneuvering through them all to coat check is enough of an issue, and her hand drifts up to her ear multiple times to ensure her earpiece is still secure and out of sight.

“I can’t believe you talked me into another heist,” Ilia teases over the earpiece, to which Weiss rolls her eyes.

“You’re the one who insisted on this plan,” she shoots back; while she’s making an effort to veil her words, the chatter of Winton’s patrons around her ensure she doesn’t have to whisper. “If I recall, in fact, you were _beyond_ thrilled to be taking part in this.”

Weiss would of course be lying if she’d said she doesn’t find pleasure in bringing him to justice. After she’d taken over the SDC from her father, she’d implemented a lot of changes in the company, abolishing the exploitation her father had been so cruelly invested in and cutting ties with business partners who had no interest in following suit.

Hue Winton of the Winton Dust Exchange is one of those former partners, and despite numerous attempts to make him change his ways, to this day he’s gotten away with almost everything he keeps doing–which just so happens to include lots of violations of newly-implemented labour laws and plenty of shady business deals that have gone just under the radar.

Business deals that Weiss is certain he must have some record of somewhere.

Static crackles in her ear, and Weiss listens intently for Ilia’s voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you miss these types of missions, huh?”

“Well, I do, and I’d like this one to go well, so let's do our best to find something on him,” Weiss chirps. Then, she pauses, smiles to a woman she recognizes but can’t bother to remember the name of, and continues brushing past the partygoers. “There’s a hedge garden just outside where I’ve left you a change of clothes. Once you have the information, meet me outside.”

“Got it,” Ilia responds before quietly adding in a voice hotter than Weiss is used to from her: “Wish me luck.”

The rasp of Ilia’s voice ghosts in Weiss’ ear for a moment after it dissipates, and she finds herself slowing her pace, more than a little taken aback at how her legs turn to jelly for the briefest of seconds and absolutely trying to ignore how warm her cheeks feel.

It takes her a moment (one far too long moment) to shake free from that momentary spell, and she immediately checks around the room to see if she’s drawn any attention; thankfully, it seems, everyone here is far too into their own conversations to pay anyone else outside of their own bubbles any mind, and for once Weiss thanks the gods for their ignorance.

She makes her way to coat check and hands the attendant her white jacket, watching intently as he puts it away to ensure he doesn’t go digging through her pockets or placing her coat anywhere different from the racks. One thing she’s noticed so far is the tension visible on the faces and in the posture of every one of Winton’s employees–attendants, servers, security–whenever they see her.

Maybe it’s the fact that Winton and Weiss are, of course, on opposite sides of this corporate tug of war. Maybe it’s the fact that Weiss Schnee is probably the biggest name in Atlas right now and seeing her anywhere sparks immediate interest in almost every party. Or maybe it’s the fact that Weiss never received an official invitation to this gala until this morning, which Winton was convinced to offer her after some very direct coercion from her sister. Of course, while Winton had _insisted_ Weiss bring a plus one she’s now wandering the floor with no one on her arm or at her side.

Weiss is careful to blend in, and her years of upright, uptight tutelage help her meld seamlessly into the crowd; she remembers how straight to keep her back, how turned-up to hold her nose, how exactly to smile and laugh and speak when someone compliments her sophisticated red gown or her new, trendy, short hairstyle.

By the time she makes it to the bar, she’s already _exhausted_ from all the plastic smiles and prying eyes. She’s not going to order anything, of course, but she leans coolly against it, watching as the attendants and security regard her with mixed suspicion and polite bows; the pressure _almost_ makes her want to ask for something, but before she can entertain the idea any further there’s another crackle of static in her earpiece.

“I just made it to Winton’s office. Place smells like a goddam ashtray.” 

Weiss turns away from the watchful eyes of the guards and brushes her hair back, resting her hands against her ears. “I’m hardly surprised by that. How was security?”

“Not a problem for me, but they’re all over this place.” Ilia chuckles softly, and Weiss pulls a hand back further to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s almost like he’s got something he’s trying to hide.”

“You’d think so.” Weiss turns around again, careful not to make it look like she’s checking for the guards. “Tell me you can get into his office computer.”

Ilia chuckles again, and it’s even harder for Weiss not to grin at the sound. “Again, not a problem. Just give me a sec.” Then, in a shadowy tone: “How are things on your end?”

“The party is just as pretentious as you’d expect,” Weiss grumbles. “I don’t think security or any of the attendants like me–”

“Are they suspicious?”

Weiss pauses, lips pursed as she checks her peripherals. Everyone at the bar is, of course, so absorbed in their drinks and their idle conversations, while the bartenders are barely paying her any mind; she’s not getting a drink, anyways, so they have no reason to notice her. Further into the main hall, any eyes from security that may have been on her have moved their interest elsewhere, and she eases for just a moment against the bar.

“Not anymore, I think,” she admits with a sigh, “though I doubt me being here will ease any suspicions, either.”

“True enough. You’ve really made it hard on a lot of these asshats here, you know. I like that about you.” There’s a hint of gentleness in Ilia’s tone, something Weiss could easily mistake for admiration if she really lets that heat creeping into her cheeks drive her thoughts. 

“If I didn’t know any better, Ilia, I’d say you were flirting with me,” she says, and she thinks _screw it_ , and she brushes back against her hair again, letting her hand settle between where her ear meets her neck.

“I–well, I guess that’s one way to think of it,” Ilia replies sheepishly. She clears her throat and Weiss relishes the morsel of bliss she feels against overwhelming pressure. “Anyways, I’m in now. What am I looking for?”

“Anything that might look suspicious.”

“That’s every file on his desktop,” Ilia teases. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Weiss wracks her brain for the types of things for Ilia to look for, her mind settling in several different spots on what she knows about him and what she’s heard that she can look for. She quickly relays them to Ilia, remaining quiet throughout and slinking away from the bar when Ilia goes silent again to begin her search.

It’s probably best if she doesn’t stay in one place, she reckons, and so she moves away towards the main hall. She’ll admit it’s hard for her to be here, idly hearing words thrown around that if she weren’t currently trying not to avoid attention she’d reach to slap from the air and challenge those speaking them. It hurts to hear such harshness so close to her that it digs into her skin like spears and swords, hurts to think that people she’s close to–people she loves so dearly–have these insults hurled at them so brazenly.

She tunes her hearing to the earpiece, hoping for a crackle of static to let her know that Ilia’s found something and hoping even more that she’s okay; instead, she’s met with silence and she clutches the shimmering fabric of her gown, matches the plastic smiles of those around her, and plays the part she was raised to know.

At least by now the guards seem to have taken an interest in something else, though by the way they whisper among one-another and move with a little more speed than before, she assumes it’s probably something she should worry about; her heart clenches, and she feels a chill she’s not unused to, though it’s certainly not a welcome feeling.

Hastily, she finds a quiet spot by one of the many ostentatious statues present in the Winton estate and pretends to admire it, swiping her hand against her ear. “Ilia, some of Winton’s security is on the move. What’s your situation?”

Nothing, at least for a moment, and that nothing worries Weiss even more. Her eyes dart frantically to the guards–most of them are now moving out of the main hall to the upper levels of the manor, with a few remaining behind with diligent glares. Weiss is quick to turn back to the statue, though perhaps her mask of control has fallen a bit away at–

The sound of static shuffles in her ear, and she breathes out a sigh she’s certainly been holding longer than she intended to. “Thanks for the update. I just made it back outside, on my way right now to the hedge garden.”

“Thank the gods, Ilia,” Weiss relinquishes. “You had me worried.”

Ilia lets out a small, shaky sigh. “Sorry, had to go silent for a bit there. But you’re gonna love what I found in there.”

“And by love I assume you mean _loathe_ , right?”

“Yeah, you’ve got it. I knew Winton was a real shitbag, but he’s into some pretty dark stuff.” Once again, Ilia’s tone is dark, and Weiss can’t help but wonder just what Ilia’s found that could merit such a departure from the excitement she began the mission with (she also can’t help but wonder what kinds of things Ilia’s already seen before, and what kinds of things don’t faze her, and how dark a life she’s had to have lived).

She quickly puts those thoughts to the back of her mind; Ilia has the information she needs, and now she just needs to bring it to her. Easier said than done, of course, and Weiss doesn’t disregard the several guards that spill out into various rooms, blending seamlessly into the crowds themselves as they dip between patrons and search for anything that might be amiss.

“You said you left me a change of clothes here, yeah?”

Weiss regards the statue in front of her, pretending to be an interested observer once again. “It should be in a folded green garment bag underneath the hedge closest to the shed.” Then, to ease the pounding of her heart against the chest and the cold sweat sticking to her back, she nonchalantly adds: “It’s not a rental, but try not to dirty it up too much.”

She waits a moment before Ilia comes back on over the earpiece. “You…really think I’d look good in something like this?”

“Of course I do, now put it on and hurry up.”

“Is this even my colour?”

Weiss stifles an amused giggle, though her face definitely betrays the sentiment. “Ilia, you’d look good in any colour. And besides, that dress basically _has_ every colour!”

Ilia’s response is a shy laugh that prompts that blush to return to Weiss’ cheeks. “Look who’s flirting now, huh.”

Weiss feels the tug on her end, ropes her fingers around it, and pulls it to her with a devilish smirk she only wishes Ilia could see. “At least I’m not trying to hide it.”

Ilia laughs again, this time more confidently, and the flush of party lights bringing out this side in both of them is far from bad, she reckons. Confidence looks as good on them as she knows the gown she picked out will look on Ilia, and so she lets her mind settle, her heart race with a different excitement, and she draws her finger along the strap of her dress.

“You really look absolutely lovely tonight, Weiss,” sounds a voice from beside her, and she dreads the exact tone she could never forget.

She turns to face the man addressing her, her expression growing sour at having to look upon the face of her host, Hue Winton.

“Hue,” she greets, and a first name is all he’s getting from her. “Where are my manners? I’ve been so rude in avoiding saying hello to you all night.”

Hue leers at her. “I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” He takes a sip of the drink he’s holding, holds his lips against the glass for too long, and the look he regards Weiss with makes her want to give him the same treatment she’d given him when she cut ties with his company. “Let’s not spend tonight bickering as…rivals in the business world, but rather celebrating what makes us similar.”

“Alright, I’m all changed. Heading out front. Where should I meet you?” Ilia’s voice sounds in her ear, and she stifles a wince, hoping that Hue doesn’t notice.

Which, of course, he does. “Are you alright, darling?”

“Of course,” she replies sharply, forcefully brushing off the word ‘darling’ to move onto his previous comment. “And I wish that were the case, Mr. Winton. I appreciate the hospitality, but I’m afraid there are very few things that make us the same.”

Hue chuckles heartily, though his expression remains suspicious; around the hall, she notices that the number of guards has increased, and the diligence with which they search has doubled.

“Well, you may think yourself separate from this society, but I’ll always know you as the fierce, proud young woman I first met years ago when your father headed the SDC. You can’t have changed that much, Weiss. Even after having cut off all of your beautiful hair–”

She slaps his hand away, partially trying to obscure the earpiece that her hair hides but more disgusted by his brazen move towards her. “I think it quite suits me, thank you very much. And I would prefer you not touch it.”

“Weiss, where are you?”

Again, Hue chuckles, and again she looks to see the room filling with a suspicious atmosphere as that cold sweat comes back to roll against her skin.

“Your sister was very insistent on you receiving an invitation, though I’d have preferred you came with a plus one. Is he here? I’d love to meet him.”

Gods, Weiss can hardly stomach his interrogation, his words laced in cold retaliation which she can only assume he harbours for everything she’s done to overturn Atlas’ elite society’s pointless, inane, arrogant way of life. And, of course, how she’s solely responsible for his business slowly beginning to fail. Surely, by the way bitterness drips from his lips, he remembers that.

“I–she–”

Hue raises an eyebrow, and she worries that perhaps he’s catching on. She brushes her ear under her hair, ready to remove the incriminating evidence of an earpiece on her person. The guards haven’t relented in their search. She feels that unwelcome cold pressing into her skin–

Her scroll buzzes, and she fishes it out of her clutch to see she’s gotten a text from Ilia: _‘Come meet me outside, babe!’_

That’s enough to cause Weiss to blush, which she tries her best to hide from Hue. He’s persistent, though, and takes a step forward as she quickly puts her scroll away. “Is that him? Tell him to come inside, I’m dying to meet him!”

“Her,” Weiss responds with an annoyed huff. She straightens her back against the trembling of an extremely close call and the beating of her heart thanks to that one simple word she could never have anticipated. “And I’m meeting her at the door. I need the fresh air.”

She hardly gives him the time to respond before turning away from him and that hideous statue, steps deliberate, eyes darting, and face stony as she’s driven wild from the inside. Clearly, she thinks, it’s just the cover Ilia’s using in case anyone else were to have seen it, and it’s a smart move that Weiss admires more than Ilia probably knows. After all, she’s _clearly_ been flirting with her on-and-off all night, it’s about time Ilia picks up on it a bit and makes her move, even if it’s only for the sake of their heist. 

It doesn’t take her long before she’s outside, and she immediately begins searching for the iridescent shimmer she would recognize on Ilia’s dress. Her eyes scan the dark pavement outside before finally settling on that familiar sight, and she steps forward with a wave of her hand, playing the role they’d wordlessly set up between them just in case anyone else is watching.

Ilia starts towards her from the shadows, and Weiss finally gets a look at how gorgeous she is; of course, she’d imagined Ilia would look stellar in that gown, but the picture in her mind pales in comparison to how it looks draped against her now. Her hair, now black and shiny, is pulled back and trails down her back, and her eyes shift between several different colours before finally settling on a striking magenta.

“Weiss!” she calls out with a smile. “There you are!”

Weiss gets ready to greet her with a friendly hug.

Ilia, instead, greets her by taking her lips into a passionate kiss.

It’s beyond shocking, and Weiss’ first reaction is to go wide-eyed and focus her gaze onto Ilia, letting out a surprised yelp against Ilia’s lips. It’s certainly not the first thing she was anticipating, though so far tonight has been only surprises from Ilia–and good ones at that. And, of course, it would be a lie to say she weren’t endlessly relieved to have Ilia here with her now (and it would be an even greater lie to say she’s not immediately turned on). 

Weiss loops her hands behind Ilia’s back, taking pleasure in how soft Ilia’s hair feels against her skin, how perfectly her palm fits against her back. Ilia responds by bringing her hands up to cup Weiss’ face, pulling away for just a moment with a breathless moan.

“Security’s behind you,” she whispers. For a moment, Weiss’ breath catches and she just about turns around to look, but Ilia’s hands hold her in place; her eyes are hooded with desire, and no matter if it’s a mask or not Weiss is caught in it like a lure. “We can whisper, but keep kissing me when you can. Make it believable.”

Ilia absolutely doesn’t have to tell Weiss twice, since she goes in for a second, sloppier kiss as if she’s been kept from Ilia’s lips for ages; it’s only been all night, however, but that feverish heat that’s been woven between them hasn’t cooled, and this release is so _good_ right now. It’s barely strange right now, even if she’s only formally known Ilia for a few months and it’s very clearly a ruse to ward off the extra set of eyes on them. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of the night catching up to her, she thinks. Or maybe it’s the way they’ve endlessly flirted with each other since the day they met in almost every interaction she’s had with her.

Or, maybe, it’s the way Weiss feels Ilia’s tongue slip deliberately between her lips, and the way Weiss so easily lets her in, indulging in the feeling of her tongue gliding against her cheek and along her teeth, melting against Ilia’s mouth.

Ilia pulls away almost slowly, her own breath hot and ragged and her swollen lips painted a bright scarlet that’s either smeared lipstick or a sign of her own arousal. Weiss nearly follows her lips until Ilia brings their foreheads together, her gaze veiling serious intent behind an _extremely_ believable lust. “Does your dress have pockets?”

“No, I…” Weiss manages breathlessly, her own words lost between moans and gasps and staggered breaths, “I…I have a clutch.”

Ilia catches her lips again, this time quickly and chastely, though the heat rises in Weiss’ skin again as she moves her lips down to her chin and along her jaw, earning small mewls of satisfaction from Weiss. She pulls one hand away from Weiss’ cheek, gliding it down to where her neck meets her shoulder, and she gently traces lines with her thumb back and forth just above her collarbone.

“No good,” she whispers against her skin, the words nearly searing the flesh they fall against. “I have an idea. Tell me if this isn’t okay.”

Weiss nods against Ilia’s lips and lets herself melt into her hold, already forgetting just what they’re doing out here but ready for whatever Ilia’s going to deliver next.

There’s a stillness from Ilia’s thumb, and for a moment Weiss almost urges her to keep going, but instead she pulls her hand away for the briefest of moments before replacing it with a coldness between her palm and Weiss’ skin. Caught between the moment and the thrill and the burning in her lungs, she almost forgets what they’re even here for, and by the time she remembers exactly what Ilia’s holding against her she feels the cold plastic dragging against her skin, down against her collarbone as Ilia peppers small, hot kisses close to her ear.

“You’re good, Weiss?”

Weiss can only offer her a moan of approval, bringing her own hand up to Ilia’s wrist and guiding her hand to the hem of her dress; the device slips under the soft fabric and against her hot skin, and Weiss continues to guide Ilia’s hand further down until she feels it slip into her bra; for good measure, she lets go of Ilia’s hand and places it back against Ilia’s open back, allowing Ilia to secure it with _very_ skillful fingers that Weiss’ racing mind lingers on for just a second too long perhaps.

She lets out a shaky breath and gives into a smile of pleasure as she leans forward against Ilia, catching her ear against her own lips this time. “It’s secure.”

“Good.” There’s a pause as Ilia keeps her cheek against Weiss’; she can feel how hot her skin is, too, and she wonders how good pink might look painted across her cheeks in a similarly aroused blush.

“Should we…continue?” Weiss asks.

Ilia hums, and Weiss feels the warmth of her touch leave her skin as she pulls back (by gods, seeing her blush now only makes Weiss want to pull her back in, plant kisses all along her face and neck and chest, and she’s only a little regretful that this charade seems to be done now).

“Our watchdog’s gone,” Ilia says, her voice a little more professional than the role she’d previously inhabited. “I’m guessing we’re probably safe to head in.”

“Head in?”

“Well, I don’t think Hue Winton would appreciate one of his guests leaving so early. People might start to talk.” There’s a hint of playfulness in Ilia’s tone, and Weiss latches onto it for the briefest of moments, still breathing in the high of their kiss.

“You’re right,” she muses, looking quickly around to make sure they’re truly unaccompanied before reaching out her hand to Ilia. “Though he was rather insistent on me having a plus one.”

Ilia smirks, takes Weiss’ hand, and curls into her side in one quick motion (though it doesn’t take much for Weiss to realise that she’s trembling). “Even if your plus one had some other business to attend to first?”

Weiss nods, pulling Ilia closer and noticing her trembling subside a small bit. “Absolutely. I’d much rather spend the night at a stuffy gala with her, anyways.”

There’s a flash of soft pink from Ilia’s cheeks, and Weiss turns to her as her expression becomes bashful. “You know, we don’t have to continue with the bit when no one’s watching, Weiss. And…after this, we really don’t have to tell anyone about…that. If you don’t want to.”  
Weiss hums thoughtfully, though she already knows the answer; it’s been rattling in her chest for as long as she was in that gala, since her and Ilia began planning this heist, all the way back to their first meeting when she couldn’t help but become entranced with how colours danced on her skin and in her eyes and how Ilia’s smile melted away any doubts Weiss still clung to after taking over the SDC.

“If it’s all the same to you, Ilia, I think I quite like the bit. And,” she leans over and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Ilia’s cheek, which flashes pink against her lips, “maybe I’d like to continue it.”

“You mean…until the gala is done?”

“I mean you’re an excellent kisser and I think I’d like to do it again when the stakes are a little lower,” Weiss confirms in a low voice against her ear.

Ilia stops in her tracks, and now it’s her turn to go wide-eyed. “W-Weiss, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to flirt with me.”

Weiss lets out an easy chuckle as she adjusts her dress. Ilia looks over at her and smiles, allowing Weiss one more opportunity to see pink flash in the flecks of her skin, and the two begin up the stairs and back into the gala, satisfied with the success of their mission (and, maybe for Weiss, satisfied with a little more).


End file.
